


Armor

by seashadows



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Het and Slash, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota and Spock slowly break down the wall Jim has built around himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armor

  
His eyes are so sad.   
  
Nyota has observed this verbally on multiple occasions, usually after a debriefing; the captain is in close contact with the entire command crew then. Spock always takes the opportunity to examine Kirk’s eyes, so as to ascertain his overall health and to corroborate Nyota’s statement.   
  
Disturbingly enough, he always finds not only that she is quite correct in her assessment of Kirk’s emotions, but that the captain’s affliction grows steadily worse over time. Ten point seven six months into their five-year mission, the sclera of Kirk’s eyes have become discolored in a manner commonly referred to as “bloodshot.” His pupils are often dilated, irises narrowed, as though he is on the verge of tears – illogical, due to the fact that neither Spock nor Nyota has ever seen him cry.   
  
Perhaps he is ill. Spock knows of several degenerative diseases that induce fatigue and damage the conjunctiva, so he informs Dr. McCoy that Kirk is in need of a medical examination. The doctor is all too eager to comply with his request, and Kirk sports the bruises of his enthusiastic hypospray for three days afterwards. He also refuses to speak to Spock for an entire shift, which Spock must admit is understandable.   
  
The emotion in his eyes still does not subside; Spock knows now that it _is_ sadness, rather than illness. He inwardly berates himself for not recognizing the signs before, for is he not Vulcan? He is no stranger to ocular emotion. His own father’s eyes, after his mother fell to her death, were bloodshot and dilated in just the same manner.   
  
He shares this information with Nyota, along with his concerns. Constant sadness is not ideal for a starship captain, especially one as new to the job as Kirk is. “Do you recommend that Admiral Pike be told?” he asks, after they have shared a dinner in Nyota’s quarters. The temperature is set somewhere between Human and Vulcan standards, so as to be comfortable for both of them.   
  
Nyota rests her head on one palm. “Told what? That Kirk’s turned into a sad sack?”   
  
“Nyota.”   
  
“Sorry,” she says, and he can tell that she truly is. “I just don’t have any idea why he’s so down.”   
  
Rather than contesting the meaning of ‘down’, Spock chooses to accept the term in its idiomatic form. “We have ruled out the possibility of illness,” he says. “No known traumatic events have occurred in the captain’s recent past, save for away missions, and he has not shown himself to react aversely to them.”  
  
She shrugs, tracing one finger against the grain pattern of her small dining table. “I wonder why we’re paying so much attention to his moods,” she says. The emotion in _her_ eyes is a mixture of quiet curiosity and irritation, and it takes little introspection to decipher its cause. Kirk has irritated her since their first meeting, but he has comported himself with dignity in regards to her since the mission began.   
  
“Perhaps we care for him as our commanding officer,” he suggests. In the privacy of Nyota’s quarters, he does not feel ashamed to voice such a small amount of emotion; she accepts even larger amounts in a manner that makes him feel comforted, and tender towards her in return.   
  
“Maybe.” She appears to be considering the suggestion. Spock reaches out and offers two of his fingers in the _ozh’esta_ , slightly aroused by her thoughtful expression; her face frequently reveals her intelligence. He supposes that he is a ‘brain man’, using the parlance that tells of one’s preferences in features.   
  
The rest of Nyota’s features are eminently pleasing as well – namely her healthy, well-formed body and the curves that please him, but embarrass her. He enjoys the texture of her hair, especially when she leaves it to curl on its own, and her face is a wonder of beauty. Spock is not often given to poetry, but Nyota warrants all that he possesses.   
  
“Well, hello,” she says now, smiling at him and making contact with his fingers. They are pleasantly cool, and he feels his arousal heighten.   
  
“Greetings,” he replies, and allows his mouth to curl up at one corner. She enjoys when he smiles.   
  
They engage in sexual intercourse on the floor of her quarters, which leaves both of them pleasantly tired and humming with pleasure in the most agreeable of ways, save for the rug burns on Spock’s posterior (Nyota tops).   
  


~

  
  
Several weeks pass, and Kirk appears no less sad when Spock sees him on the bridge or in the recreational facilities. Contrary to his earlier statement, the captain suffers no occupational setbacks from the emotion clearly visible in his eyes, but it is enough to make Spock feel concerned for him.   
  
Nyota is concerned, too, and takes steps to assuage Kirk’s mood. One day, she invites him to play chess with Spock; though they had both agreed on it, she is the logical choice to make the invitation, as Spock’s social skills regarding humans do leave something to be desired. “I don’t really like chess, but it’d be interesting to watch you guys,” she says after catching Kirk at the end of alpha shift. “What do you want to bet he’ll kick your ass?”   
  
Just for a moment, the sadness in Kirk’s eyes eases slightly, but it is fleeting. “No, thanks,” he says. “I’m kind of busy tonight. Sorry to disappoint.”   
  
“’No, thanks?’” Nyota repeats. She touches Kirk’s arm as he turns to walk farther down the corridor. “What do you mean, you’re busy? The mission reports from last time are finished.” She glances at Spock, as though asking for help.   
  
“Captain, your company would not be unwanted,” Spock puts in. He is unsure of what exactly has happened; Nyota is quite correct. It is unlike Kirk to turn down companionship, and he does not usually do so. Only yesterday, he fenced with Lieutenant Sulu in the gymnasium, he went over engine specifics with Lieutenant Commander Scott for hours last week, and he frequently spends time with Doctor McCoy. Why is Spock and Nyota’s company so distasteful to him?   
  
Spock watches as Kirk walks away down the corridor, and he knows at that moment that their company is _not_ distasteful. Kirk’s sadness is somehow tied up in this uncharacteristic decline to play chess with him, but he is unsure of its exact cause. The way his eyes lit up when Nyota first made her request was no coincidence.   
  
“What’s his fucking problem?” Nyota snaps, breaking Spock out of his thoughts. “I _know_ he wanted to play chess with you. It was _blatantly_ obvious.”   
  
Spock nods. “Perhaps this conversation is best continued in a more private location,” he suggests, and she wordlessly turns to steer them towards his quarters. They walk in silence until they reach his door, and when they enter, Nyota flops down on the edge of his bed.   
  
“So, I’ll say it again. What’s his fucking problem?” she asks.   
  
Spock joins her there, albeit without the flop. “I do not know,” he says. “Perhaps he believes that you will lambaste him for some infraction.”   
  
Nyota sits up and levels a glare at him. “You do _not_ get to put this on me, Spock!” Her eyes are angry, as is her tone. “He’s probably just afraid you’re going to try to choke him again.”   
  
“I did so under extreme duress, and I do not appreciate your comparison of the situation to now,” Spock replies. Nyota knows that the subject of the Battle of Vulcan is sensitive; her bringing it up, especially in relation to James Kirk, is what humans call ‘below the belt.’ “I confess to some confusion as to why we are fighting about the captain.”   
  
“So am I.” Nyota blinks, as though startling herself out of a daze, and laughs. “You have to admit he _is_ nice to look at.”   
  
“He is attractive,” Spock agrees. Both he and Nyota are fairly sexually flexible, and he is gratified that she is comfortable enough with that fact on his part to discuss the captain’s physical attractiveness with him. “Brightly-colored eyes are extremely rare in both Terrans and Vulcans.”   
  
“Absolutely.” Nyota nods. “Just out of curiosity, do you know if he’s involved with anyone?”   
  
“I cannot be sure, but I believe that he is not.” He is slightly confused at his own sudden curiosity as to the captain’s relationship status. Then again, that may be rationalized by the fact that the mental health of one’s commanding officer is of the utmost importance…which would make sense, were it not for the fact that he was concerned about Kirk’s mental health before this point, and his concerns turned out to be unfounded.   
  
Logic confuses even him sometimes.   
  
Nyota laughs again, a short, pleasant sound. “I think half the women on this ship are in love with him,” she says. “Probably half the men, too. And half the ungendered beings.” Starfleet has clearly drilled into her the importance of political correctness.   
  
“Do you refer to yourself?” Spock asks.   
  
“Not really.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I’m _attracted_ to him, but I’m definitely not in love with him.” She looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you?”   
  
“No.” He returns both gestures, the head-shake and the raised eyebrow. “I, too, find myself attracted to him.”   
  
“Well, like I said, a lot of people are.” Nyota touches his hand. “Have you ever thought of maybe…” She hesitates, but not for long. “Maybe asking him to join us?”   
  
From her, such words are surprising but not impossible. “I have considered such a scenario, yes. However, I believe that he would likely reject a proposal of sexual activity as well.”   
  
“You’re probably right. I mean, if he won’t even play _chess_ with you, why would he want to have sex with us?” Spock can hear a note of hurt in Nyota’s voice; even though she formerly considered the captain beneath her regard, he _is_ competent, kind, and attractive. That he would reject activity of any kind with them is both painful and illogical.   
  
Spock is not sure why he cares; he only knows that he does.   
  
“If he would not wish to join us in sexual congress, perhaps we may imitate his presence,” he suggests. It is a bold idea, but they have “role-played” that they are other members of Starfleet before. Nyota particularly enjoys playing that Spock is Admiral Pike, and that she must orally service him due to varying circumstances.   
  
“Good idea,” Nyota says, and licks her lips in anticipation.   
  
She surprises him the next night with a device she refers to as a “strap-on,” and large quantities of chocolate-flavored lubricant. He calls her “Captain,” and she quirks her eyebrow a great deal while penetrating him anally; when she reaches his prostate, he climaxes so hard that he loses consciousness.   
  
But it is not the same, and they miss the actual captain’s presence more than either of them would like to admit.   
  


~

  
  
The crew of the Enterprise is granted shore leave on Earth eleven point six seven months into their five-year mission. As many of the crewmembers are human, a large amount of the ship’s population is understandably excited. Queries and happy explanations fly across the bridge for several days preceding the beam-down; this is how Spock learns that Ensign Chekov plans to visit his family in Russia, Lieutenant Ononkwo is going to visit her grandmother in Nigeria, and Doctor McCoy has no plans at all, save an attempt to visit his daughter (he is frequently on the bridge, much to Spock’s annoyance).   
  
Their shore leave will last one standard week while the Enterprise is given minor repairs, so Nyota makes plans to see her family during the latter portion. She and Spock choose a pleasant location in northwestern Washington, as the climate is temperate and mild, and neither of them has ever been to the forests of the Pacific Northwest. A small number of crewmembers, Captain Kirk among them, decide to go as well; this is agreeable, as it means that their group will receive “bulk rates” in addition to a Starfleet discount.   
  
The hotel that they choose is located on the outskirts of Tacoma, not far from Puget Sound; the rooms are small but comfortable, and there is a bar in the lobby. Once they have beamed down, placed their bags in their room, and engaged in “cuddling,” Spock proposes that they have a drink; he knows that Nyota is fond of Cardassian Sunrises, and he has lately developed an illogical craving for the Terran drink known as an “adult Shirley Temple” (he enjoys the cherries).   
  
“Sure,” Nyota says, fixing her hair in front of the bureau mirror. “Just not too much. I don’t want to get too plastered.”   
  
Spock blinks. “It is logical that you do not intend to cover yourself with cement paste.” He looks through the hotel-room window and notes that it is early evening; their activities took longer than he anticipated.   
  
Nyota giggles and pretends to slap his arm. “It means ‘drunk,’ Spock. Come on.” She pulls on a clean shirt from her bag and puts on a layer of lip gloss. “You want to go? Let’s go.”   
  
They are on the third floor, so they take the stairs down to the bar. It is lightly populated with several crewmembers and other hotel patrons that Spock does not recognize. “I would like an adult Shirley Temple,” he tells the Denobulan bartender.   
  
“And I’d like a Cardassian Sunrise,” Nyota says.   
  
“Sure.” The bartender nods, picks up two glasses, and sets about mixing the drinks. Under the neon blue glow of the bar sign, his wide-set features appear opalescent. Spock admires the effect for a moment; even Vulcans are capable of appreciating aesthetically pleasing things.   
  
“If you are amenable, I will taste your drink when it arrives,” Spock says.   
  
Nyota raises an eyebrow. “Is that an innuendo?”   
  
Spock raises his own eyebrow, lowers it, and raises the other for good measure. “Perhaps.”   
  
“Maybe I like that… _Commander._ ” She tilts her head up and kisses the line of his jaw. He shivers, his thighs tensing in arousal, and briefly considers abandoning the bar in favor of carrying her upstairs; the idea is quickly discarded, of course. At least the bartender is looking away.   
  
A quiet sound reaches his ears, and he quickly turns in the direction from which it came, only to see someone sliding off the bar stool to his right. “Captain?” he queries. How did he not notice that Kirk was at the bar as well?   
  
But Kirk does not answer; in fact, he is walking briskly, almost running, in the direction of the hygienic facilities. “Captain,” Nyota calls after him, but he gives no reply, instead disappearing into the door marked _Men_.   
  
“Disappeared _again_.” Nyota sighs and rests her chin on her palm. “Do you think he’s okay?”   
  
“I do not know.” Refusal to _hang out_ , as the Terrans term it, is one thing; Spock has never known Kirk to willingly run from anything, save a Horta on an away mission. “Should I follow him and ascertain his state of being?”   
  
“Yeah.” Nyota nods. “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll hold our drinks.” She nods at the bartender as he places her Cardassian Sunrise in front of her.   
  
“Thank you, Nyota,” he says, and slides off his own barstool to follow Kirk into the restroom. “Captain?” he asks, once the door has closed behind him. “Are you here?”   
  
There is no answer, but the sound of heavy breathing from within a stall alerts Spock to Kirk’s presence. “Captain?” he says again, placing a hand on the stall in question and pushing lightly. The door refuses to give way. “If you do not allow me entry, I will be forced to damage the door.”   
  
A pause of six point eight nine seconds ensues before the captain replies. “Well, don’t do _that_ ,” he says without intonation. Spock hears Kirk undo the latch and sees the door swing slowly open.   
  
Kirk is sitting on the toilet – fully clothed, Spock is more than slightly relieved to see – with his face covered by one hand. His posture is slumped, speaking of utter defeat in some respect or other, and although Spock cannot be sure, the way his back shakes is highly indicative of strong emotions. “ _What?_ ” he says, his voice muffled.   
  
Spock blinks. “Captain, are you well?”   
  
“Go away,” Kirk says, a reply that is truly no reply at all. “Seriously. Fuck off.”   
  
“Your profanity is unnecessary,” Spock tells him. He understands many Standard idioms, but crude language does offend him slightly, especially when it is directed towards him. “If you are ill, I insist that you contact a physician and seek treatment.”  
  
“My _god_ , Spock! I’m not fucking sick, all right?” The hand covering Kirk’s face slides down to slap his thigh in frustration, revealing a face flushed and blotched with tears. “I’m _fine_. Now leave me alone.”   
  
In spite of his best intentions, Spock’s mouth drops open slightly. He has never seen Kirk shed tears, and the sight is disconcerting, to say the least. “What ails you?” he says.   
  
“ _Nothing!_ How many times do I have to say it?” Kirk makes a frustrated face at him and stands up, trying to shove him away. It is to no avail; Spock’s strength is three times his, as Kirk seems to have forgotten. “Seriously, get out of here. Did…someone send you to spy on me?”   
  
“Yes,” Spock says, but continues when Kirk opens his mouth to say something else. “Or rather, I suggested that I ascertain your condition and she agreed with my logic.”   
  
“Oh, _fuck_.” As though he has been neck-pinched, Kirk suddenly slithers down from his standing position to sit on the toilet seat again. His hands cover his face. “You and Uhura. Just shut up, okay?”   
  
“Why, Captain? Has either one of us done something to offend you?” He almost hopes that they have, for offense can be rectified and forgiven; continued avoidance, such as Kirk has practiced, is far worse than a fight.   
  
“No.” Kirk’s breath shudders out of him, and Spock suspects that he is trying to suppress tears. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”   
  
“Then why do you avoid our company?” Spock asks. To “beat around the bush” would be illogical, especially in a case such as this.   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Kirk shakes his head against his palms. “Will you _please_ go now?”   
  
“Captain.” Hesitantly, Spock touches Kirk’s shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is dampened slightly – perhaps from sweat, or his earlier spate of tears. “Inform me of your rationale.”   
  
“Shit. You’re _making_ me say it.” Kirk sighs heavily, rubbing his palms against his eyes. “Fine. I _can’t_ be friends with you and Uhura. I can’t play chess with you, because I’d have to see you, and _watch_ you, and you’re together and I’m in love with you, both of you, and why the hell would you want me when you have each other?”   
  
In the silence, Spock considers the possibility that his hearing has malfunctioned.   
  
“You happy?” Kirk says. His voice rings unnaturally loud against the stall’s metal walls. “You satisfied? I told you why I suck. Now leave me alone.”   
  
“Captain.” Unbidden, Spock kneels on the linoleum floor. He does not wish for Kirk to see him as an intimidating figure. “Please accompany me to the bar. Nyota and I would speak with you.”   
  
“Right, so you can laugh at me? Like I’m gonna –“   
  
“ _Captain._ ” Spock takes Kirk’s wrist and pulls him to his feet; at this angle, he can easily see the tears still brimming in the captain’s bright eyes. “Accompany me. Please.”   
  
Kirk’s jaw sets.   
  
“Fine. Five minutes.”   
  
Spock is quite certain that their conversation will take far more than five minutes, but he keeps this observation to himself. Instead, he takes Kirk by the shoulder and steers him out of the bathroom (thankfully, as the odors therein are incredibly unpleasant) and back to the bar.   
  
Nyota is sipping her Cardassian Sunrise when they return. “Hey,” she says, and cocks her head in Kirk’s direction. “You got him out of the head?”   
  
“Indeed.” Spock touches her hand. “Shall we adjourn to a more private table?”   
  
“Sure.” Nyota blinks in confusion, but readily picks up her and Spock’s drinks and follows them to an isolated table at the edge of the bar. “What’s going on?” she asks, after they have sat down.   
  
“Captain,” Spock says, looking Kirk full in the face, “please repeat to Nyota what you told me.”   
  
“Wait, _what?_ ” Nyota says. “This involves us?”   
  
“That is hardly unexpected,” Spock says, and quirks his eyebrow. “I assure you that she will not laugh.”   
  
“Spock, what is this?” Nyota touches his hand. “Is he all right?”   
  
“I’m _fine!_ ” Kirk snaps. “I’m just in _love_ with both of you, and there’s no way I’m gonna be able to explore that, and I was fine with keeping it to myself until _Spock_ dragged it out of me.” He glares at the table’s dark, polished surface.   
  
“ _What?_ ” Nyota says, the expression on her face one of utter shock. “Are you _kidding_ , Kirk?”  
  
“Wish I was.” Kirk speaks to his own reflection. “I fucking _jack off_ to thoughts of you two. Personal enough for you? I don’t just want to fuck you, either. _I love you_. Both of you.” The words wrench out of him, full of pain, and Spock believes he finally understands the expression ‘like pulling teeth.’ “I _can’t_ just be friends with you. I can’t.”   
  
The eyes of both the captain and his reflection fill with tears, and he sniffs hard, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, his voice husky. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”   
  
“Jim, don’t.” Nyota reaches out to cup his cheek in her palm. “Please. Stay here and let us talk to you about it.”   
  
“About what? How you’re happy to be friends, and you’re glad this misunderstanding was cleared up?” Kirk’s voice breaks on the last word. His eyes are so sad that Spock almost feels tears in the corners of his eyes himself – almost. “Please let me go.”   
  
“ _Jim!_ ” Now she has both hands cupped firmly around his face, and is staring him straight in the eyes. “We want to talk to you about the fact that _we reciprocate your feelings!_ ”   
  
“We do,” Spock says, breaking in before Jim can utter more denial and escape them altogether. “Both Nyota and I find you attractive, Captain. We miss your company when you avoid us.” The next admission is embarrassing enough to force him to lower his voice. “We…role-play that you have joined us in bed. These signs are logical indicators of love. What more would you ask of us?”   
  
So much emotion. So much revelation. Spock’s stomach is twisted in knots from the novelty of it, but when he sees the expression on Kirk’s face – as though the sun has risen on a new and wonderful planet – he decides that he would not take back his words for all the riches in the Federation.   
  
“You mean it.” Kirk’s voice is certain when he speaks; Spock can almost hear the period that punctuates the end of his sentence, rather than the expected question mark. “You love me.” Spock and Nyota both nod. “You _love me_.” Another nod; Spock is unsure exactly why Kirk requires so much repetition of a simple fact. “You fucking love me.”   
  
“Yes, Jim,” Nyota says. “We love you.”   
  
In reply, Kirk closes his eyes and allows the held-back tears to come forth.   
  
“Jim?” Spock speaks softly, using the captain’s name for the first time. “Will you allow us to prove our love?” He cannot believe the words emerging from his own mouth. They are in a _public_ locale, and although the bar’s other patrons are located too far away to hear, the naming of emotion is not undertaken lightly.   
  
James Kirk is worth it.   
  
“How?” His voice is small and hesitant, like that of a small child, and Spock is struck with the sudden urge to care for him somehow.   
  
“Come upstairs with us,” Nyota says, and strokes his face gently. “Make love with us.”   
  
Kirk says nothing, but the nod he gives them, as well as the emotion spilling from his eyes with the tears, make it clear to anyone watching that his emotional armor has cracked.   
  
Nyota stands up and turns to leave. Spock follows and, unbidden, Kirk does the same. “It’s on Room 313,” she calls out to the bartender, who nods and waves. The other patrons, luckily, are either engaged in conversations of their own or know to keep their own counsel; Spock notices no eyes upon them.   
  
They climb the stairs to the third floor in silence, Spock’s hand clasped around Kirk’s wrist – not tightly enough to hurt him, but certainly tightly enough to assert his and Nyota’s claim. The stairs are cold and dank, and under the glare of fluorescent lights, Spock can see that Kirk’s face is flushed brightly from crying. The urge comes upon him to take the captain in his arms, and he ameliorates his emotion with the reminder that they will soon be able to touch as much as he wants.   
  
When they reach Spock and Nyota’s room, Nyota waits until Spock and Kirk have entered before locking the door securely behind them. “Jim,” she says, the only needed word, and crosses swiftly over to kiss Kirk so hard that he is bent over backwards.   
  
Spock’s penis throbs hard in his trousers, and he quickly wraps himself around them both in what Doctor McCoy would probably refer to as a _risqué group hug_ , or something equally illogical. “Jim,” he says into the captain’s ear. “Are you aroused?”   
  
“Nnff,” Kirk replies, his mouth still locked with Nyota’s. His eyes are closed.   
  
“I see.” Spock takes the opportunity to remove his shirt and trousers, mindful of the _sock gap_ ; he has been on the receiving end of Nyota’s laughter more than once for neglecting it. “What would you have us do, Jim?”   
  
“Oh god. Dunno,” Kirk gasps, having torn his mouth away long enough to speak; his lips are pleasingly swollen, and Spock does not resist the urge to lightly bite one. “Just…fuck me or something.”   
  
“As you wish.” Spock glances at Nyota. She, too, is clearly aroused, with dilated pupils and cheeks slightly flushed. He calculates the probability that her nipples are hard (seventy-nine point three one percent). “Shall we disrobe?”   
  
“Yeah,” Nyota answers, smiling at him. “Jim? Arms out.” Kirk obeys, and she unbuttons his blue button-down shirt, then eases it off him. “Gorgeous,” she tells him, and leans forward to flick a nipple with her tongue.   
  
“Oh _fuck!_ ” Kirk gasps, bucking his hips. “P-please…don’t tease me.”   
  
“We have no intention of teasing you,” she replies. “All right, pants off. You too, Spock.” She looks up and down the lengths of both their bodies. “I’m getting undressed. Join me in bed when you’re ready.” She pulls her dark green sweater over her head; her pants and the rest of her garments soon join it on the floor as she lounges against the hotel bed’s paisley-patterned covers.   
  
Spock spares a disdainful thought towards the room’s decorators, but it doesn’t last long. Before he knows it, he and Kirk are both naked on the bed with Nyota, the comforter cool against his hot skin. “ _Nyota_ ,” he growls, and then “ _Jim_ ,” reaching a grasping hand out to no one in particular.   
  
Jim grasps the offered hand and Nyota takes the other, and the sensation of _both_ their emotions filling him sends him into a higher state of arousal than anything he has ever experienced before. It must form itself into a positive feedback loop, for Jim groans and writhes, rubbing himself against the bed and making noises that Spock cannot understand.   
  
Then his mouth is on Kirk’s - Jim’s, he is Jim now, without question - nipple and Nyota’s fingers are caressing his penis and he _bites_ , perhaps slightly harder than necessary, in his pleasure – now there are fingers at his anus, thicker than Nyota’s, and they are cool and firm and _welcome_. Why have they not done this before?   
  
“Ohgod. Ohgodohgodohgod,” Jim moans. Spock’s eyes snap open, and he answers the moan with one of his own when he sees Jim splayed out on his back, with Nyota lowering herself onto his penis. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Nyota…” His eyes roll back in his head when she swivels her hips. “ _Nnngh_.”   
  
Spock echoes his statement with a similar one in Vulcan. “ _Guv_ ,” he grinds out between clenched teeth, taking his penis in a loose fist. Jim and Nyota are thrashing in pleasure now, profanities filling the air (and he is not offended now, no, not _by a long shot_ , as the humans say). “ _Estuhl dular!_ ”   
  
Jim’s fingers find his entrance again, slick now with saliva or Nyota, and he pushes in slightly with the tip of his index finger. Spock growls something that even he does not understand in return, thrusting his hips so as to give that finger better access. “ _Svi-uh…svi-uh nash-veh, Khart-lan, Jim,_ Jim!”   
  
Spock knows that Jim does not understand Vulcan, but he obliges all the same by wiggling his finger in farther and crooking it to touch Spock’s prostate. He cries out, eyes closing again, and then there is a hand on his penis that must be Nyota’s, and pleasure, and _pleasure_ , and then he knows light and pulses and nothing.   
  


~

  
  
When he awakens, the air is still heated with the remnants of sexual activity. Spock opens his eyes with some difficulty. “Nyota?” he says.   
  
“I’m here, Spock.” She smiles at him from Jim’s other side; the captain is sandwiched between them, his head buried in a pillow. “Well?”   
  
“Did we make love?” Jim says quietly before Spock can answer. “Was that what it was?”   
  
“Yes, Jim,” Spock says. He bends his neck and kisses Jim’s shoulder as Nyota rubs a circle on his back. “We made love.”   
  
He will have to speak to Nyota and Jim about more proper terminology for sexual intercourse. At least Jim did not ask if they had ‘fucked.’   
  
“Will you stay with us now?” Nyota asks him. Her fingers trace the curve of his rear, and he shudders. “Do you believe us?”   
  
Jim pauses before answering. “Yeah,” he says, and takes his face out of the pillow. “I’ll stay. Will you?”   
  
“Of course we will,” Spock says, and Nyota nods.   
  
When Jim’s eyes well up this time, they both lean in to kiss the tears away.   
  
His eyes are so happy.


End file.
